


Hall Pass

by BananaStickers



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Consensual Infidelity, Ficlet, M/M, Mild D/s, That Terrible NHL Tonight Commercial, pre-porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 17:17:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaStickers/pseuds/BananaStickers
Summary: John Tavares and Jonathan Toews film a (truly terrible) commercial for NHL Tonight.Here's what happens afterwards.





	Hall Pass

**Author's Note:**

> If you're not subscribed to NHL.tv, you've probably never seen this commercial. If you ARE subscribed to NHL.tv, you see it approximately 10 fucking times per game and it is the worrrrrrrrst. Essentially, the boys are playing the $64,000 Question game about NHL Tonight (which they brand as "Win the Draw"). I didn't expect them to know what the 64k Question was so in the fic they compare it to Jeopardy, which isn't quite accurate, but suits the story better.

“Here’s what I don’t understand,” JT says, pointing his beer at Jon. “You’ve been doing media spots for like... _ever._ How are you so bad at it? Captain Serious can’t get his shit together and act a little?”

“Like you’re any better. You kept screwing up that cheer at the end by giggling.” Jon scoffs, flicking his wrist and sloshing the beer in his bottle dangerously close to the lip. They’re both working hard on killing the rest of the beer in JT’s barren fridge inside his New York condo, and they’re both a bit tipsy. Everything’s gotta go eventually, JT figures; half the stuff is already on its way to Toronto. He realized too late after inviting Jon over to his place post-filming that he’s already packed the televisions, so they’ve just been sitting on the couch together drinking.

There are worse ways to spend the time.

“First off, I don’t giggle, because I am not a 12-year-old girl. I was _laughing_ because you kept making this face,” JT says, and imitates a blank-eyed glazed stare with a slight smile. “Actually wait, I think that’s just your normal expression.”

“One of the NHL Tonight staffers told me they tried to get Matthews, or Rielly, or Marner, or even Nazim fucking Kadri but they were all busy so they had to settle for you.”

“Bullllllshit.”

Jon just smirks, drinks a little more beer.

“It’s gonna be a terrible spot anyway,” JT says. “Like it might be fun if they asked _real_ questions.”

“You mean gave real answers,” Jon points out. “It was like Jeopardy. I gave the answer, and you responded with the question. Besides, what questions do _you_ want asked?”

“Questions for you?” JT picks at the label on his bottle of beer, considering. It’s not often he gets a guy like Toews in his apartment. Even rarer to get a tipsy Toews, like he’s got now. “Why, you wanna play this game? Okay, so the answer is…’the worst feeling in the world.’”

Jon crinkles up his nose. “Well probably losing the Stanley Cup, although neither of us would know because I’ve won every time I’ve gone and you’ve never been to the Finals.” JT throws up his middle finger, which Jon ignores. “You’re doing it wrong anyway. You give the answer, ‘losing the Cup’, and then I give the question, ‘what is the worst feeling in the world’.”

“Ugh, that’s dumb. I feel like I’m too drunk for this,” JT mutters, staring down into his empty beer bottle. “Okay, uh. The answer is Toronto.”

Jon fixes him with a look. “What is the team you wore pajamas for as a kid?”

“Ha-ha, cute. No, what is the _winner_ of this year’s Cup. And those were nice pajamas, for the record.”

“You’re terrible at this game,” Jon says, and drains his beer. Now they’re both on empty for booze, and JT has half a mind to head to the fridge and get two more bottles.

Then again, he might have a better idea.

“Okay, one more. The answer is, bouncing up and down.”

Jon screws up his mouth, thinking. “What is...the thing you do after you win the Cup?”

“Nope. It’s what I want you doing on my dick in about twenty minutes.”

If Jon still had a beer, JT’s pretty sure he would choke on it. As is, his jaw comes slightly unhinged to stare slack-jawed at JT, blinking. “Oh, I um - John, I - I’m with someone. Sorry.”

“That’s not a _no,”_ JT smirks. “Besides, haven’t you ever heard of a hall pass?” Both their phones are sitting on a box that’s doubling for a coffee table. He plucks Jon’s phone off the box before Toews can swipe it away, fends him off while he tries a couple passcodes. _1111\. 5555. 1234. 9876 -_

“Give that back!”

“I have six more codes to try before your phone is completely wiped for security purposes. Orrrrrr you can just give me your password.”

“JT. Seriously - “

 _2580._ “Five tries.”

_“John!”_

_1379._ “Four.” JT expects another protest, but Jon’s quiet, so he glances over at Toews out of the corner of his eye. There’s a blur of movement and JT just barely manages to jam the phone in his pocket as Jon practically tackles him, fingers digging in as he grapples for his phone.

They tussle on the couch for a minute, and even though they’re pretty evenly matched in height and weight, and Jon is surprisingly _strong,_ he’s also a bit tipsier. The disadvantage eventually works against him, and JT ends up on top, lets Jon struggle and curse for a minute before his captain brain apparently takes over and deems it _unseemly,_ and he falls still and silent, glaring up.

“C’mon, Toews,” JT says, pronouncing it _toes,_ keeping his wrists pinned to the couch. “It can’t hurt to ask. Hell, _I’ll_ ask, so if your ‘someone’ gets pissed about it, you can blame it solely on me. I’ll be the asshole here.”

“You _are_ an asshole. Furthermore, I - “

That’s enough of _that,_ JT figures, leaning down to mouth at Jon’s neck, the sensitive spot right underneath where the scruff of stubble ends and the smooth pale skin begins. Jon makes an extremely undignified noise, almost a whine, and is already blushed bright red when JT pulls back to smirk at him. “You’re allowed to like that,” JT says. “If I’m allowed to call.”

The pair stare at each other for what feels like forever, and JT’s half-convinced that Jon isn’t going to break. He can practically _see_ the war going on inside, the primal want fighting with the stick in his ass. JT figures his side could use a little help, and he drops his hips and grinds, slowly rolling himself against Jon.

“Fine,” Jon grits out, and he sounds - _exasperated_ with himself, like JT isn’t about to blow his damn mind. “But I’ll call. Let me do it.”

“If you insist,” JT says, wiggling up off Jon - with a few deliberate _pushes_ in strategic areas as he’s doing so - and hands the phone back over. He waits until the phone is unlocked and then snatches it back, dancing out of Toews’ reach with a laugh.

“Fuck, man,” Jon yelps. “Why? I told you I was gonna - “

“Because I wanna hear his reaction when I call.”

 _“His?”_ Jon’s mouth sort of flaps open like a fish a few times. “I have a girlfriend.”

“Uh huh.” JT scrolls through the phone, frowning. “P, P...Patrick Marleau, Patrick Roy - really, you have _his_ number? - Patrick Sharp...where’s Kane?”

“I have a _girlfriend,”_ Jon repeats firmly. “Her name is Lindsey. She - “

“I’m not calling your beard, man. Oh, here it is! Under _Kaner._ That’s cute.” JT presses the dial button, puts it on speaker, and smiles impishly, ready to move if Jon decides to charge him again. Based on his murderous expression, it’s a distinct possibility. At this point, even if JT doesn’t get laid, it’ll be worth it just for this.

“Hey baby,” comes the distinctive drawl that JT always thought made Kane sound like he’s brain-dead.

JT’s expression goes gleeful, and across the room Toews grits his teeth, like he’s unsure whether to be angrier at JT or Patrick. _Baby,_ JT mouths at Jon with a Cheshire-cat grin before he talks. “Hey yourself, baby! Oh, this isn’t Jon, sorry. Well, I guess technically it _is_ , just not Toews. It’s Tavares.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence as JT imagines that Patrick is probably digesting the fact that he just got caught calling Toews _baby,_ so JT barrels on. “Look, I don’t know if you guys thought you were keeping this a secret, but I’m here to tell you that you’re doing a real bad job of it. Pretty much everyone knows you’re banging it out, and you know what? Congrats on _that_. Because I wanna fuck him too, man. What do you think about a hall pass? Tell you what: you give your okay, and I won’t say a word about you two. I mean. Everyone already knows, trust me, but if you wanna pretend like they don’t…”

Across the room, Jon is pinching the bridge of his nose and looking resigned. “It’s okay, Patty. It’s me, I’m here. Yeah, Tavares, we’re a thing, I’ll admit it.”

“No shit, buddy.”

Patrick, on the phone, clears his throat. “Jonny, you really want this? This - hall pass?”

“Not anymore,” Jon says, at the same time JT says _yes._

“One sec, Kane.” JT puts the phone on mute, very deliberately, so Jon can see it, and takes a step towards him. “You don’t have to admit it to anyone else, _Toes_ , but I saw your reaction when I had you pinned on that couch. You think you gotta be the big strong dommy captain around everyone, and I get it, trust me, _I do_. What you really want is someone to hold you down and fuck you until you’re screaming around the fingers I’ll have shoved in your mouth. You wanna beg to be allowed to come, and then spanked until your ass is red. Don’t you?” It’s a calculated risk, but JT’s pretty sure that Toews wasn’t whimpering over a little neck kiss. It was the whole package: him pinned down, in a vulnerable position.

Jon stares at him for a beat, smacking his lips like all the saliva has suddenly gone missing. “I could do without the spanking,” he says, and his voice sounds a little different, lower.

“You sure?”

“You have a belt. Use that instead.”

JT resists the _incredible_ urge to gloat and slowly, calmly, takes the phone off mute. “Sorry Kane, I - “

“He doesn’t want to,” Patrick interrupts. “Sorry, Tavares, Jonny doesn’t bottom. You’ll have to go find someone else to fuck.”

“Actually.” Jon clears his throat, stepping closer so Patrick can hear him. “It’s not, uh. Patty, I don’t mind bottoming, just, uh.”

“Just what? You never bottom with me!”

“That’s because your ass is just _begging_ for it, Patty. Can’t help it.”

“Oh.” Patrick actually sounds extraordinarily pleased at that statement. “Well hey, thanks. It is a pretty nice ass, huh?”

“The best,” Jon confirms. “So...we talked, and I changed my mind. What do you think about a hall pass?”

“Wellllll...you promise to tell me all about it?”

Jon’s eyes go wide and a little panicked, and JT mouths _lie!_ at him. Kane certainly doesn’t need to know all the details if Jon is embarrassed over a little spanking and submission. Toews fidgets nervously, but nods, as if Patrick could see the motion. “Yeah, I’ll tell you.”

“Then go have fun. Oh, and Tavares? I’m gonna check you so hard in the next game you’re gonna see Jesus. Just wanna let you know.”

“Okay, bud,” JT says, because he’s not the least scared, but figures antagonizing Jon’s boyfriend would not be a prudent move. “Can I go fuck your man now?”

Patrick hangs up instead of answering, so JT drops the phone to the floor and is on Jon in two quick strides, fisting his hand in Jon’s shirt and yanking him close in a biting kiss. Jon melts into it, going pliant as he’s dragged into the bedroom. There are no longer any sheets or pillows on the bed, just a folded up comforter; it’ll have to do.

“How long’s it been since you bottomed, Jonny?” JT whispers against Toews’ mouth, letting their lips brush together as he speaks. “How tight are you gonna be for me? How _good_ are you gonna be for me?”

“Very,” Jon says, and tries to chase JT’s mouth for another kiss, but JT grabs his chin, shakes his head.

“Uh-uh, Jonny, this is my show now, and you’re gonna listen to me.” Jon’s silence is all the response he needs, and JT smiles. “Knees. Now.”

Jon goes down - knees folding, head bowed, hands clenched - and JT resists the urge to tell him how good that is. He doesn’t want Toews to get praised so easily.

He’s going to need to be a _very_ good boy for that.


End file.
